Sold. Yes; As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, I cannot tell:. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy The worthy thane of Rosse. Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look, That seems to speak things strange. Rosse. God save the king! From Fife, great king, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Dun. 3 Truth. Great happiness! + Shakspeare means Mars. 5 Defended by armour of proof. Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norway's king, craves composition; Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest:-Go, pronounce his death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Rosse. I'll see it done. Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 2 Witch. Killing swine. 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd :Give me, quoth I: Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. And, like a rat without a tail, 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 3 Witch. And I another. 1 Witch. I myself have all the other; And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know 6 Avaunt, begone. 7 A scurvy woman fed on offals. I' the shipman's card, 8 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 3 Witch. A drum, a drum; Macbeth doth come. [Drum within. All. The weird sisters 1, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine: Enter MACBETH and BANQUO. Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips: You should be women, * Compass. 9 Accursed. And yet your beards forbid me to interpret Mach. Speak, if you can; What are you? 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter. Ban. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair?—I'the name of truth, Are ye fantastical 2, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner That he seems rapt 4 withal; to me you speak not: grow, and which will not ; And which grain will 1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail! 3 Witch. Hail! 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo! 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis; 2 Supernatural, spiritual. 4 Abstracted. 3 Estate. Stands not within the prospect of belief, Upon this blasted heath you stop our way you. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them:- Whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted As breath into the wind.. 'Would they had staid ! Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root, That takes the reason prisoner? Macb. Your children shall be kings. Ban. You shall be king. Mach. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. here? Enter ROSSE and ANGUS. Who's Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale, 3 Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. Ang. VOL. IV. We are sent, 5 As fast as they could be counted. R |